Read Online Ferris Beach by Jill McCorkle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jill McCorkle
Ads: Link
streetlight at the back end of the cemetery, but other than that slight glow, our yard was dark. The windows of the pastel houses were black. People were not even home from work yet, but the sky was like night, and leaves were blowing everywhere, sticking to the screens. A shirt was hanging on the Huckses’ clothesline, and I watched it whip back and forth like a banner of surrender.
The night they drove old Dixie down.
The DJ. was singing along with Joan Baez, in an obnoxious off-key way. Up and down the back street, lights began to come on, and headlights were turning into driveways. “I am Mrs. Theresa Poole and I am speaking to you live from my living room, where I am hosting a number of our community’s finest citizens in a little tea, where we are planning our annual Halloween carnival, which will be held October 31st, which is Halloween, down at the Pinetop Elementary School cafeteria.” Mrs. Poole talked on and on, and I could tell that by the end she was being hurried to finish. Finally in the last second, she managed to say, “All the funds go to UNICEF.” Prior to that she went on and on about what would be served at the carnival, how apples donated by Mr. Thomas Clayton would be bobbed for, and finally how there was more to Halloween than dressing up like little goblins and begging door to door. The obnoxious D.J. was a welcome relief after Mrs. Poole finally finished.
I went downstairs to put the roast in the oven—my father was still not home from work—and when I returned, a blanket around my shoulders, there was a light on at the Huckses’ and I could see the mother passing back and forth, maybe from stoveto sink or sink to refrigerator. Again, I wondered about Dexter Hucks’s patches and who had sewn them, especially that nasty skull and crossbones on the seat of his worn-out pants. Dexter Hucks was in a gang, or so Merle had told people, a biker gang where he was much younger than all the others. When Todd Bridger asked about the gang, what they called themselves, Merle said it was none of his business. Todd Bridger was one of the most popular guys in school and had been since kindergarten. He was squeaky clean, with short hair, and was always elected president of
something,
a club, the class. He was always the teacher’s right-hand man, and for years he had been the ultimate dream of a boyfriend. I was not alone in the fantasy of having Todd Bridger’s heavy silver ID bracelet around my wrist. He was the catch of our class, though it seemed during that year he was trying very hard to impress Merle Hucks, who was not easily impressed.
I caught a glimpse of white at the top of Mrs. Poole’s fence, and then there was Merle, swinging his leg over and then dropping with a splash into my yard. Mrs. Poole would’ve fired him just like she fired his daddy if she had seen. It seemed he paused there a minute, and then he walked quickly through my yard to the edge, where he disappeared momentarily in the overgrowth. When he came up on the other side, he turned and stared over our yard. The rain was just a fine mist by then, but I still felt certain it was too dark for him to see me sitting there. Still, I held my breath, waiting for the search to end. I half expected to hear him scream like an alley cat, though it had been years since he’d done that to me, and then my father’s headlights turned into our drive and blinded him, one frozen moment like a frightened animal before he bolted.
“Meerrroooowwwww!” Merle had yelled. It was three years before, a springlike day. I was stretched out in the sun, thinking about Angela and Ferris Beach. The memory was harder andharder to grasp those days, Angela’s face coming and going, distant and then near, much like the shapes and colors on my eyelids as I faced the sun, my schoolbooks tossed to one side, my old tabby cat, Oliver, rubbing his nose against my cheek with a strong wheeze of a purr. We were both alarmed by the loud catcall. I sat up suddenly,
The night they drove old Dixie down.
The DJ. was singing along with Joan Baez, in an obnoxious off-key way. Up and down the back street, lights began to come on, and headlights were turning into driveways. “I am Mrs. Theresa Poole and I am speaking to you live from my living room, where I am hosting a number of our community’s finest citizens in a little tea, where we are planning our annual Halloween carnival, which will be held October 31st, which is Halloween, down at the Pinetop Elementary School cafeteria.” Mrs. Poole talked on and on, and I could tell that by the end she was being hurried to finish. Finally in the last second, she managed to say, “All the funds go to UNICEF.” Prior to that she went on and on about what would be served at the carnival, how apples donated by Mr. Thomas Clayton would be bobbed for, and finally how there was more to Halloween than dressing up like little goblins and begging door to door. The obnoxious D.J. was a welcome relief after Mrs. Poole finally finished.
I went downstairs to put the roast in the oven—my father was still not home from work—and when I returned, a blanket around my shoulders, there was a light on at the Huckses’ and I could see the mother passing back and forth, maybe from stoveto sink or sink to refrigerator. Again, I wondered about Dexter Hucks’s patches and who had sewn them, especially that nasty skull and crossbones on the seat of his worn-out pants. Dexter Hucks was in a gang, or so Merle had told people, a biker gang where he was much younger than all the others. When Todd Bridger asked about the gang, what they called themselves, Merle said it was none of his business. Todd Bridger was one of the most popular guys in school and had been since kindergarten. He was squeaky clean, with short hair, and was always elected president of
something,
a club, the class. He was always the teacher’s right-hand man, and for years he had been the ultimate dream of a boyfriend. I was not alone in the fantasy of having Todd Bridger’s heavy silver ID bracelet around my wrist. He was the catch of our class, though it seemed during that year he was trying very hard to impress Merle Hucks, who was not easily impressed.
I caught a glimpse of white at the top of Mrs. Poole’s fence, and then there was Merle, swinging his leg over and then dropping with a splash into my yard. Mrs. Poole would’ve fired him just like she fired his daddy if she had seen. It seemed he paused there a minute, and then he walked quickly through my yard to the edge, where he disappeared momentarily in the overgrowth. When he came up on the other side, he turned and stared over our yard. The rain was just a fine mist by then, but I still felt certain it was too dark for him to see me sitting there. Still, I held my breath, waiting for the search to end. I half expected to hear him scream like an alley cat, though it had been years since he’d done that to me, and then my father’s headlights turned into our drive and blinded him, one frozen moment like a frightened animal before he bolted.
“Meerrroooowwwww!” Merle had yelled. It was three years before, a springlike day. I was stretched out in the sun, thinking about Angela and Ferris Beach. The memory was harder andharder to grasp those days, Angela’s face coming and going, distant and then near, much like the shapes and colors on my eyelids as I faced the sun, my schoolbooks tossed to one side, my old tabby cat, Oliver, rubbing his nose against my cheek with a strong wheeze of a purr. We were both alarmed by the loud catcall. I sat up suddenly,
Similar Books
